The Competition
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Gil & Greg friendship. Spoiler: Dead Ringers. It's the 2006 Law Enforcement Desert Relay and Greg is not running as a CSI why? NEW: It's Sunday. The race is about to start and Sara is waiting for Chip Barnes.
1. Ready

THE COMPETITION

Gil & Greg friendship.

Greg's first race with CSI turns into a cutthroat competition...

SPOILER: DEAD RINGERS

* * *

Greg finished lacing his shoes and then he straightened up. He took a few tentative steps, to make sure that they fit. They did.

He glanced at himself on the smooth surface of the next locker and noted with surprise that he looked good in his new uniform. He looked just like a consummate runner, ready for the challenge ahead.

Good.

The 2006 Law Enforcement Desert Relay was scheduled to start in just twenty four hours, and teams were arriving from all over the country. Some of them were already doing trial runs, and Greg could tell that the competition was going to be fierce.

Greg was confident, though; he'd run with his new teammates earlier that day and he had hold his own with them.

He wasn't worried... But for some reason, he wasn't as fired up about the race as he'd been say, a couple of days before.

He wondered whether playing some inspirational music might help. Something like 'The Eye of the Tiger,' or 'We are the Champions'; something to put him in the mood for victory.

Or maybe he just needed to remind himself of all the things that he would accomplish if he won this race.

He smiled. Yeah, that was an idea.

Number one reason: He was going to help an old college teacher.

Number two: He'd finally show Chip Barnes that he was not the same Greg Sanders who'd lost every sports competition in high school.

Number three…

Greg smiled ruefully. There was no number three. The truth was, he just wanted to win the damn race, at all costs. Frankly, it was kind of embarrassing.

He'd let what had begun as his first race as a CSI turn into a cutthroat competition. And all because of Chip Barnes. Chip Barnes, who had made Greg's life hell in high school; Chip Barnes, whose hyena laughter had haunted dozens of kids at Lincoln High…

Chip Barnes, who had resurfaced like a ghost a few days ago.

Well, Chip was in for a surprise; this time around, Greg Sanders would be the one leaving the rest choking behind in a cloud of dust.

He was entitled to a little victory, right?

_Yes, I am_, he told himself, yet again.

Still… He couldn't help feeling a tad guilty. Regretful.

He was not running with the night shift, to begin with. He wasn't running as a _CSI. _He wasn't even running for Nevada; he was running for the Washington Lab Rats. He felt bad about that, even though Grissom and the other guys had taken his desertion well.

But then, they didn't know the whole story yet.

Greg sighed. All he'd wanted was to win a competition -nothing more and nothing less - but things got out of control, and now had to make all sort of decisions about his future. He didn't like that.

_Damn_, he thought. _How can life get so complicated in such a short period of time?_

It all started almost a week ago, on Monday.

TBC

Next... What happened on Monday?


	2. First flashback: Monday

THE COMPETITION.

Part two.

Gil & Greg friendship.

A week in Greg's life. It's Saturday, and Greg looks back on the events that altered the course of his life. It all started on Monday…

* * *

Things had started to get out of control on… 

MONDAY (flashback)

It was late in the evening and Greg was about to leave for work, when his phone rang.

"Greg Sanders," he said promptly.

"Hey, Sanders," came the reply, "Do you always answer the phone with that wimpy voice?"

"Excuse me?" He asked. He hadn't recognized the voice at first but when the guy burst out laughing, Greg knew who the voice belonged to. Still, he had his doubts. "Who is this?" he asked cautiously.

"Chip Barnes!" replied the man, "Chip Barnes, Sanders; the one who used to mop the floors of Lincoln High… with your head! Bwah, ha, ha, ha! Remember me?"

Oh, _that_ Chip. Greg remembered, all right.

"Hello? Sanders? You there?"

Unfortunately, Greg thought. He didn't want to talk to this guy; they'd never been friends, and the last time they'd spoken had been twelve, thirteen years ago.

Not that Greg hadn't heard about him since then. He knew that Barnes lived in Oregon, for instance; he also knew that, in a bizarre turn of events, Chip had ended up working as a DNA technician too, (hey, the guy was not stupid, he was just a jerk).

"What do you want?" Greg asked dryly.

"I just thought I'd let you know that I'll be seeing you, soon." He said, "I'm gonna run on Sunday, too."

"You?" Greg frowned, "Why would you do that?"

"I'm working in law enforcement now!" Chip said cheerfully.

"Weren't you working for a pharmaceutical company?"

"I was, Sanders; not anymore. Now I work for the Oregon Police Department! I'm running with them this year! By the way," he added, "I heard you're running too. I was surprised, you know? You stank at sports. But then I found out who you're running with, and it all made sense."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I've heard those guys from CSI haven't finished a race in years." He said, "It looks like you're stuck with the losers, Sanders. AGAIN. Bwah, ha, ha, ha!"

Chip made some other comments, and then he hung up.

Greg threw the phone at the opposite wall. 'Take that!' he hissed, and he wished the phone had hit Chip in person and not a poster of his favorite music group.

God, he hated Chip-

Chip. Why did bullies always have names like that? _Chip, Chuck, Mick. _

One-syllable names for one-track minded guys. Chip was older now and a scientist, but the bully had survived in him.

Some things never changed.

But others did. It suddenly dawned on him that Chip Barnes would not be able to mop any floors with his head now. Greg Sanders was not a skinny weakling with a bad case of acne, anymore. He pumped iron and he ran; his face had cleared, and, most importantly, he was a wiser man now.

Unfortunately... the part about being stuck with the losers might just be true.

* * *

Saturday:

Greg took off his tennis shoes and put them in his locker.

Thinking of Chip's call made him realize just how childish the man was, calling him and talking as if they were still teenagers. And the worst part was that Greg had reacted in the same vein.

Now Greg wanted to believe that if things hadn't changed so dramatically, he would have taken the high road when he faced Chip. He would have uttered the grown up version of 'stick and stones...' and then he would have run with his CSI pals.

But he had received yet another call, and this one had set a new chain of events in motion.

That call came on Tuesday…

* * *

TBC 


	3. Second flashback: Tuesday

TUESDAY

(A week in Greg's life)

It's Saturday, and Greg looks back on certain events.It all started on the previous Monday, and then it started to getcomplicated on Tuesday…

* * *

TUESDAY (flashback) 

After a strenuous shift, Greg went home for some rest. He was starting to fall asleep when the phone rang.

"If it's Chip, I'll kill him when I see him," Greg muttered as he reached for the phone. "Hello." He said curtly.

"Sanders?" amale voice said, "Is that you?"

Greg's eyes opened wide. This sounded like yet another voice from the past –a more recent past, that is.

"Professor Vauchss?" he asked in disbelief.

The man chuckled.

"Yes." He said, "Good ear, Sanders. How are you?"

"Fine," Greg said, and he sat up just as if the man had just entered his room, "Oh, wow, sir, this is a surprise-"

It was. Vauchss had been a favorite teacher in college –a real mentor. It was Vauchss' work in law enforcement that had helped Greg decide what to do after College.

Forgetting his exhaustion, Greg started asking question after question about Vauchss' recent work, until he practically overwhelmed the older man.

"Slow down, Sanders!" he said, good-naturedly. "I can only answer one question at a time, you know."

"Uh, sorry -"

"But we will have a chance to talk very soon, Sanders." he said, "I'm coming to Las Vegas for the Desert Relay Race.My team is representingWashington this year."

"Great!" Greg said enthusiastically, "Then we'll have a chance to catch up-"

"Exactly," Vauchss said, "That's what I have in mind.But there is something I need to discuss with you before I get there, Sanders." He paused, "I'll get straight to the point," he said, "I'm having trouble with some of my people, and I was wondering if you could help."

"Sure." Greg said. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to run with my team."

Greg gaped. He assumed his old professor was going to ask him to book his people at some gymor something like that.

This was completely unexpected.

"I know," Professor Vauchss said when Greg failed to respond, "It's an unusual request -"

To say the least.

"Well?" Vauchss asked, "What do you say?"

"Well, sir…" Greg started, "I… hum, wish I could help, but hum... I'm running with the CSI team this year, and-"

"I know you are," Vauchss interrupted, "I've been following your career, Sanders."

"You have?"

"I always keep an eye on my best students." He said, "That's one of the things I want to discuss with you, but not now;I plan to stay in Vegas for a few days after the race; we'll talk then. Right now my concern is for the competition. As you know, I like to win."

Greg knew, indeed.

Professor Vauchss was no ordinary lab rat. Unlike most of his colleagues, Vauchss was a devoted athlete -an obsessive athlete, according to some; one that excelled mostly in individual competitions.

Greg could well imagine how difficult it was for the professor to depend on others for success.

"People have told me great things about you, Sanders." Vauchss said then.

"Really, sir?" Greg asked, wondering which of his cases had stood out lately.

"Yes," The professor said, "They tell me you've been training hard for the race, and that you've been improving your time."

Oh.

Greg didn't comment.

"It seems you're among the top-rated runners this year." Vauchss added. When Greg didn't respond, he continued, "Listen. If you're concerned about any impropriety, then you can relax. The rules clearly state that teams can exchange up to two members, as long as they belong in the same category. You're still registered as a DNA technician, aren't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then you can run with us." He stated, taking for granted that Greg would say yes. When the young man didn't, Vauchss changed his tone. He actually sounded humble as he added, "Sanders, I have a good team -a great team, actually. But this matters little when you don't have people you can actually trust. I need someone I can trust beside me, and you're it."

He paused. "So, what do you say?" he asked meekly, "Would you help an old college professor?" And before Greg could answer, he added, "Will you think about it, at least?"

Greg couldn't say no to that.

"All right," he said, "I will, sir."

"Meanwhile, let me tell you about the team…"

* * *

Saturday: 

Greg had told himself (and anyone who asked), that he was running with Vauchss' team solely to aid an old friend in need; but deep down he knew that was not the case.

Yes, he wanted to help his old professor, and yes, he was flattered that Vauchss had called him. But the truth was…He just wanted a chance to do what he had dreamed of countless of times: Face Chip Barnes as an equal.

Frankly, Greg would run with the devil if it gave him a chance to defeat Chip Barnes and the Oregon Team. But of course,this was not what Greg toldGrissom when they talked on Wednesday.

* * *

TBC 

Coming soon… Wednesday.


	4. Third flashback: Wednesday

THE COMPETITION

What happened on Wednesday?

* * *

Saturday

On hindsight, Greg, wondered whether he should have broached the matter in a different way. He, who usually took fifteen minutes to explain something to his boss, had taken the straightforward route this time.

There was nothing wrong with that, but simply announcing, "_Hey, Grissom, you've got a minute? Something happened and I won't be able to run with you guys,_" may not have been the most tactful way to put it.

Still, Grissom's reaction had been better than he had expected.

* * *

WEDNESDAY (flashback)

Grissom had frowned as if he hadn't heard correctly, and then he'd put his pen down in order to focus on Greg.

"Why not?" he asked, "I heardyou did great at the trial run -"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then why aren't you running?"

Greg's response had been honest –maybe a tad too much so:

"Oh, I am," he said, "I just want to run with another team."

Grissom's eyes had widened.

"Another team?" he repeated, "Why?"

"Because I'd like to win," Greg answered in a 'duh' tone.

"You don't think we have a chance?"

"Honestly? I can't say." Greg replied, "I mean, no offence, Grissom, but the night shift hasn't finished a race in the last five years-"

Grissom frowned.

"We have not?" he asked.

Greg looked up incredulously;he couldn't believethat Grissom didn't know this about his own team. But after a moment,herealized that Grissom's puzzlement was genuine –he had simply not talliedhis team's failures at the annual race.

Greg took it upon himself to give him a little reminder.

"Two years ago," he said, "You were driving the follow car and you got off track-"

"Oh," Grissom muttered thoughtfully, "Yes. I remember.There was a body out there, and-"

"Three years ago," Greg continued, "You spotted a fire burning several miles away-"

"It was the runaway car used in a bank robbery-" Grissom pointed out.

"And then, a year ago-"

And that's when Grissom had looked at him with big, wounded eyes.

"So, what you're saying is that _I_ have made it impossible for the team to win."

And that's when Greg realized that honesty may be the best policy, but sometimes you have to be careful with what you say and how you say it.

"Grissom." He said patiently, "It isn't you. A year ago, it was _Sara_ who spotted evidence of a recent murder, and four years ago, it was _Catherine._" he paused, "It's like the team's jinxed, or something." He said, "Maybe you're cursed to find crime everywhere you go."

But of course, Grissom didn't believe in bad luck or curses.

"Greg…" he said, and then he paused for a moment, "All I can say is that the lab needs you" He said at last, and then he sat back, seemingly pleased with his little speech.

But said speech didn't make any impression on Greg.

"Thanks," Greg said, "But we both know that I can be easily replaced, Grissom. Lots of people ended up without teams this year; you'll find someone else."

Greg's words were very effective; clearly, Grissom could not argue with the truth. After a moment, he nodded lightly.

"Very well, Greg." He said. "I'll tell everyone, then."

"Uh, I'd rather tell them myself if you don't mind," Greg said, "I don't want to be sneaky about this."

"Ok," Grissom said, picking up his pen again.

Greg was relieved by his boss' reaction. Fortunately for him, Grissom wasn't the win-at-all-costs type of guy. It made things easier.

Still, he wanted to make sure.

"So," Greg said, "You're cool with this?"

"Yes," Grissom smiled faintly, "I'm cool."

Greg nodded once and rose to leave, but just as he was turning away, Grissom spoke.

"By the way..." he said, "Who are you running with?"

"Oh, some guys from Washington." Greg said carelessly, "Professor Vauchss is leading them this year, and-"

"Professor Vauchss?" Grissom interrupted. "_Adrian_ Vauchss?"

Greg nodded earnestly.

"Yeah," he said, "You know him?"

That was a silly question; _everybody_ knew him.

"I know _Doctor_ Vauchss," Grissom said tentatively.

"Oh," Greg smiled, "I call him Professor because he was my teacher in College, and -"

"Your teacher?"

"Yeah," Greg nodded, "I was his star pupil for two years," he added. "He called me yesterday, and-"

"He called you?" Grissom asked.

"Yep." Greg said. "Apparently, he heard good things about my running style," he said, "Or maybe running with old guys like Nick and Warrick made me look good in comparison," he joked.

The casual tone didn't fool Grissom; Greg was obviously proud of the fact that Vauchss had made that call.

"Anyway," Greg said, "He called and said he needed someone he could trust by his side." He smiled, "And he chose me."

"Oh."

"I'm wired Grissom!" Greg said enthusiastically. "Thanks for letting me do this, ok?" he smiled, "I really appreciate it."

Greg turned away again, but just as he was about to reach the door, Grissom's words stopped him again.

"They call him The Fox," he said quietly.

"Who?"

"Dr.Vauchss," Grissom said, "They call him The Fox. In Forensic circles, I mean." he added.

"Really? The Fox?" Greg smiled, "It's kinda obvious, huh? Fox and Vauchss-"

"It's not just because it rhymes." Grissom said, "Vauchss is what we call a 'Poacher,'" he explained, "Whenever he comes to a city, he always manages to snatch someone; DNA technicians, mostly. Vauchss offers them a higher salary, a better package of benefits, a job in Quantico-"

"Wow," Greg exclaimed. "I didn't know that." He looked at Grissom, and then he grinned. "Luckily for you, I'm not a DNA technician anymore, huh?"

And then he'd left.

* * *

Saturday 

So, for Greg, that conversation had ended well. Later that day he talked to Nick and Warrick, and they tookhis desertion well, too.

Facing Sara hadn't been so easy, though.

TBC

Coming soon… Thursday.


	5. Fourth flashback: Thursday

THURSDAY

Sara entered the break room just as Greg was about to take a sip of his coffee. She closed the door and leant on it.

"All right," she said, "Start talking."

Greg put down his cup and smiled.

"You've got me alone in a room and all you want to do is talk?" he teased.

"Warrick says you're not running with us."

Greg's smile died. He looked down.

"I wanted to tell everyone," he said, "But you were busy, so-"

"So?" she insisted.

He looked up.

"So I told Warrick alone."

"And?" she insisted.

"And that's it." He said. "I'm not running with you; I'm running with the guys from Washington -"

"But why? I thought you were happy with our team."

"I was," he said, "I was, Sara. I just..." he shrugged evasively.

"Yes?" she insisted. She crossed her arms and stared at him until he squirmed.

"I just want to win." He muttered reluctantly.

"Excuse me?" Sara said, tilting her head as if she hadn't heard correctly, "_You_ want to win? Isn't that what _everyone_ wants?"

"Not really," Greg said. "I mean, you guys don't _need_ to win. You just want to make a good run." He frowned, "Maybe it's Grissom's influence." He mumbled, almost to himself.

"Grissom's influence?" she asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well..." he hesitated. "Let's just say that his pep talks aren't that inspiring." He said, "I mean, they all end up with how winning isn't really that important." He scowled.

Sara smiled faintly.

"He just sees things from a different perspective," she said

"Or from a different planet." Greg muttered to himself.

"He's right, you know." she said, "It's just a race, after all."

"It's just a race, unless you've got a chance to win," Greg replied, "And _I_ have a chance to win."

"But why did winning become so important, all of a sudden?" she asked, and then she looked suspiciously at him, "Did you wager a year's salary like some of the cops did?"

"No!" he replied indignantly.

"Then what is it? Did you enter some sort of bet or..." she looked closely at him, "You're not gambling, are you?" she paused, "Greg?"

"Sara, it's not what you think -" he said.

"Well, I hope so." she retorted, "Gambling could get you in a lot of trouble, you know that. Just ask Warrick if you don't believe me -"

"Whoa, Sara!" he said, raising both hands in a pacifying gesture, "I'm not gambling, ok?"

He smiled reassuringly, but he could see that Sara was still not convinced. Sara seemed to have a completely wrong idea of the reasons behind his decision not to run with the CSI team and, while Greg didn't want her to think the worse of him, he didn't want to explain either.

After all, his own reasons were not exactly noble; they were petty –petty and childish.

"Greg?" Sara said, tilting her head, "Are you going to tell me?"

He sighed. She was not going to let go until he told her.

"Fine," he said resignedly, "I'm gonna tell you, but please, let's keep it between us, ok?"

She pulled a chair and sat close to him.

"Ok," she said.

"I mean it, Sara." He insisted. "This is kind of embarrassing and I'd rather nobody knew."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"'Cause you're my friend." He said matter-of-factly.

And so, Greg told her everything. First, he told her about Professor Vauchss, and how the old man had requested his help.

"I didn't want to disappoint him," he said, "The old guy was very supportive when I was in college." He added, "This is a chance for me to do something for him. I mean, he really lives for these races, Sara."

"So, you're doing this for your old teacher?" Sara asked, wondering why Greg would be embarrassed by this.

"Well, hum, no." Greg faltered, "He's only a part of it." He admitted, and then he told her about Chip Barnes, the one person who had turned his high school years into a nightmare. He told her about the practical jokes, the ridiculing, and the fights that Greg never won.

He told her how Chip would put a hand on Greg's head and pin him down, while Greg flailed his arms around, trying to punch back.

"I never hit him." Greg said, "I was too small and, frankly, I lacked the cunning."

"And now this guy is coming to town." Sara said thoughtfully.

"Yeah." He nodded. He looked at her, "I know how this sounds, Sara," he added, "I know we're adults now, and I know I should take the high road and not let Chip bother me, but…" he shook his head, "I can't."

Sara smiled gently but didn't say anything.

"You know," he said after a moment, "When I was a kid I used to fantasize that I was able to pummel him down," he said, and then he paused, remembering those dreams. "I could do that now, but I can't, right?" he smiled faintly, "All I can do is win the race."

"So that's why you'll be running with the Washington guys." She said. "I heard they're good." She added.

He looked up, wondering if she resented him. She gazed back expressionlessly.

"Look. Anyone can replace me, you know that. But Professor Vauchss doesn't know anybody else -" he said, "And he was really helpful when I was in College. This is a chance for me to do something for him, and-"

"… and for yourself, too," she interrupted. "Be honest," she said, "You just want to be able to yell nyah, nyah, nyah, to this guy."

"No, I really want to help -" he started, but she was not buying it, and he knew it. "Oh, all right." He sighed, "It's true. But come on. Put yourself in my place. Didn't you ever wish you could go back in time just for a chance to tell off the people who made your life hell at school?"

Sara opened her mouth to categorically deny this, but she stopped. She seemed lost in thought for a moment.

Greg looked closely at her.

"Well?" he prompted.

She seemed reluctant to answer.

"Greg," she said at last, "If I had a chance to tell off the cheerleader-type girls who tormented me all those years ago… Yeah," she admitted, "I'd take it."

Greg smiled.

"So, am I forgiven?"

She nodded.

"You are."

"You don't think it's stupid, then?"

"I do." She said gently. "But I understand." She rose from her seat and walked to the door. Just as she was about to leave, she turned and said, "But I'm warning you," she said, "If you try to pull this off again, I'll personally whip your ass, ok?"

He smiled winningly.

"Is that an offer?"

Greg smiled to himself. Sara had let him off the hook pretty easily. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then he shook his head. He needed to hurry; he had barely an hour to go back home and get ready for work.

But thinking of Sara inevitably made him think of the events that had taken place on Friday. What would she say if he told her of his conversation with Professor Vauchss? Would she let him off the hook again? Or would she try to make up his mind for him?

TBC


	6. Fifth flashback: Friday

THE COMPETITION

Note: A few months back I read that Eric Szmanda was offered a role in CSINY, but William Petersen convinced him not to take it. Boy, am I glad ES stayed in Vegas! Anyway, thinking of 'what if?' led me to write this story.

NOTE: OMG! I published the wrong version of this chapter and I did not notice until yesterday (May 6)! So sorry.

* * *

Saturday

Greg took off his new running shoes and his new uniform too and carefully put them in his gym bag. He needed to hurry; he had to be in the lab in half an hour.

He relived the events of the day before, as he drove to work.

* * *

FRIDAY 

On Friday, Greg drove to the airport as soon as his shift ended, and picked up Professor Vauchss and his people.

Greg was impressed by his future teammates; the three men and the two women in Vauchss' entourage looked more like professional athletes than scientists –just like professor Vauchss, in fact.

And they were just as ambitious, too. When Greg offered to take them on a tour of the city, they politely declined; instead, they asked him to take them to the desert area where the race was going to take place. They were obviously not affected by jet lag.

The professor, however, was more interested in checking out their lodgings. He had asked Greg to get him rooms at a hotel with gym facilities, and he obviously wanted to see for himself if everything was up to his standards.

Greg dropped the professor and the luggage at their hotel, and then he took the rest of the team to the desert.

Along the way, Greg tried to engage them in a conversation. He asked them questions about their work and their training, and he also volunteered bits of information about Las Vegas and the competition, but all he got from them were a few mumbled comments.

They were obviously NOT in a friendly mood, but Greg didn't take it personally. After all, they weren't even talking among themselves. In fact, those guys looked more like strangers thrown in together for the race than like colleagues working for a common goal.

Still, Greg couldn't help being his friendly self, and so he kept talking, and pointing at any site of interest that they passed by.

It wasn't until they were back at the hotel that the youngest technician, Marcia Cole, pulled him aside for a talk.

"You don't have to do this, Ok?" she said.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Try to be friendly," she answered. "We're not interested. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you're Vauchss' golden pupil," she said, "The one he compares everyone to."

Greg smiled –he couldn't help it, he was flattered- until he realized that she wasn't smiling.

"Me and my coworkers, here..." she said, tilting her head in their direction, "We've worked hard to stay in his team," she said, "And now all of a sudden he tells us that you're in." She paused, and then she added reluctantly, "It's bad enough that he keeps comparing us to you," she said, "But now he's giving one of our places to _you_ -"

Greg didn't know what to say.

"There's going to be a trial run tomorrow," she added, "We're going to compete with each other, and Dr. Vauchss is going to decide who's out," She looked at him, "So, as you can imagine, we're not feeling very friendly. We don't want to talk –not to each other, and certainly not to you. Get it?"

Greg nodded slowly.

"Sure," he said.

She turned to go back to her teammates, but something made her stop. She glanced at him over her shoulder, "I think you should run with us tomorrow," she said, "It's only fair, don't you think? To show us if you've got what it takes?"

She didn't wait for his answer.

Greg and Vauchss met for lunch later that day.

Poached fish and steamed vegetables weren't Greg's idea of a fun meal, but he didn't say so; Vauchss was buying, after all. And the old man meant well; he just wanted everybody to join him in his quest for a healthier lifestyle.

Greg tried to broach the subject of the competition as soon as they sat to eat, but the professor seemed more intent on talking about the past.

"Do you remember Spring break, 1997?" he asked at one point.

"Sure," Greg said, "That was the year you got me a job at the Smithsonian -"

Vauchss nodded.

"Best intern they every had," he said. "For years, they would call and ask me to send them another student, but I never did." he said, "Those new students I had-" he paused, and then he shook his head regretfully, "There was no brilliancy there, Sanders. The college authorities said I needed to lower my expectations, but I would not. I knew then, that it was time to quit teaching."

"I was sorry when I heard about it." Greg said, "But at least you were finally able to focus on your work as a DNA expert."

Vauchss only smiled modestly.

This seemed like a good time to talk about the present, and Greg did.

"You have a good team," he said. "How long have you worked together? At the lab, I mean."

"About two years," Vauchss said. "Peterson and Atkins are my newest additions."

This had surprised Greg, who thought most people stayed at a lab for years, like Catherine and Grissom did. But then, maybe Vauchss simply liked having young people around.

"They seem very focused on the competition-" Greg started.

"They are." Vauchss nodded.

"In fact," Greg continued, "I don't think I could outrun them, sir. I might be able to hold my own, but -"

"I know you won't disappoint me," Vauchss said warmly.

"Yeah, but..." Greg hesitated, "What if?" he said, "I mean, I wouldn't like to take the place of someone who can do a better job than me, sir. That wouldn't be fair to your team. They want to win this competition as much as you do."

Vauchss put down his fork and then he leant forward.

"Sanders," he said solemnly, "There are things in life that are moreimportant than a trophy or a race. There's loyalty, for instance."

"They seem loyal -"

But Vauchss didn't let him finish.

"Then we'll see how far their loyalty takes them, then." he said, in a tone that implied that there was nothing else to discuss. "And if you're worried about their feelings, then don't be. My people know that everything I do is for the good of the team, Sanders. My people trust my judgment." He added. "Do _you_?"

Greg was taken aback by the professor's hardened tone.

"I do," he said quickly, "I just -" He paused, not sure how to explain.

"You will do a good job on Sunday, Sanders." Vauchss said then, "That's all that matters."

And Greg finally understood thatVauchss didn't want to discuss the matter anymore. But that was ok; there were other things they could talk about –like his work as a CSI. He had been waiting for a chance to tell his old professor all about it.

"It's different, being out there," Greg said at one point, "Now I get to talk to people-"

"Sanders," Vauchss interrupted, "I know you want to tell me all about your new job. I was going to broach the subject myself, after the competition. However, since you've brought up the matter yourself..." he put his fork down and then he fixed a stern look on Greg, "All I can say is that I am very disappointed by your decision to become a CSI."

Greg was taken aback.

"Well," he said, "Sir, I thought-"

"You were brilliant, Sanders," Vauchss interrupted, "A genius. The youngest, brightest student I ever had. Back then, everyone envisioned a great future for you –a future as a scientist. But you exchanged all that for a chance to pack a gun and pick up blood samples from cadavers-"

"We don't just pick up samples -" Greg started but Vauchss wasn't finished.

"Do you know how many years of schooling a CSI needs?" Vauchss asked, his words dripping despise. "Do you remember how many years _you_ spent in college to get your degree?"

Vauchss didn't give Greg a chance to reply, "This is not what you worked so hard for." He continued, "You didn't spend all those years studying and making sacrifices so you could end up tagging along the police."

"I'm still a scientist-" Greg said, but Vauchss ignored the interruption.

"But I don't blame _you,_" he said, softening his tone, "I blame myself." He added. "I knew that Las Vegas wasn't the right city for you, but I said nothing. You wanted to be close to your parents -"

Greg glanced away. He didn't want to talk aboutthe elusive Mr. And Mrs. Sanders, who had been absent during most of his life. He had hoped that moving to Las Vegas would improve their relationshipbutthings hadn't worked that way. Only the presence of his grandparents had somehow eased his disappointment.

"How are they, by the way?" Vauchss asked.

"They live in Palm Beach, now." Greg muttered.

Vauchss nodded, as if the news didn't surprise him. He looked down at his half-empty plate. Idly, he picked up the last piece of herbed fish but after a moment, he put the fork down. He took a deep beath.

"Sanders." He said solemnly, "I'm sorry if what I said hurt you, but I believe I have a right to speak. I know you. I know your potential. Your place isn't out there, mingling with criminals who lie and get away with it. Your place is back at a lab, where the evidence is all that matters."

Greg looked down.

"Sir, with all due respect..." he said, "I don't think I could go back to that little lab in the basement again."

"I quite agree," Vauchss said quickly. "You shouldn't have to work in a basement -no scientist should. In fact," He added, "_My _lab isn't in the basement." he said grandly, "My lab is on top of a building. _I_ don't make requests for equipment and then sit back for a year waiting for someone to approve the acquisition; equipment is _offered_ to me."

Vauchss seemed very pleased with himself as he added, "You see, things are different in Washington." And he looked expectantly at Greg, who didn't know what to say but managed to be polite.

"Good for you, sir," he said.

"FBI trainees come to my lab for their specialization –did you know that?" Vauchss continued, "And when people who worked for me leave, it is to head their own labs. They moved on to better things because they remained true to their calling." He said pointedly. "You... You could have had a brilliant future, Sanders."

Greg opened his mouth to say that he had a brilliant future as a CSI, but refrained at the last minute. He didn't think the professor would appreciate hearing that.

"Sanders," Vauchss saidandthen he paused until he was sure that he had Greg's full attention, "My lab is arguably the biggest in America. Would you like to work there?" heasked.

Greg's eyes widened.

Vauchss sat back, enjoying the effect that his words had on Greg. There was an expression of incredulity on the young man's face, and he was momentarily speechless.

"Well? How would you like to work for me?"

Greg recovered at last.

"Wow, sir." he said, "This is-" he hesitated, "This is huge," he admitted, "I don't know what to say-"

"I know," Vauchss smiled benevolently, "It's a big decision."

"Yeah," Greg agreed, "It is."

"I am not going to pressure you for an answer just yet, Sanders." Vauchss said kindly, "I don't even want to discuss it." He added, "Right now, there's a competition we need to focus on. We'll have plenty of time to discuss the matter afterwards."

But Vauchss didn't really leave the matter alone.

He talked about Washington, and then he talked about his wife and how much she'd love to see Greg again. Then he talked about the lab, and how many of his technicians had moved on to plum jobs in Quantico... And those were magical words to Greg, whose secret fantasy had always been to work for the FBI. He didn't know why; it just sounded glamorous -the stuff of childhood fantasies.

But Vauchss managed to top even that, when he hinted that his intention was to take Greg back to Washington as his second in command.

"But you don't have to decide now," Vauchss said as they walked to the parking lot, "Just put it out of your mind," he added helpfully, "Don't think of it until after the race."

But Greg couldn't think of anything else as he drove back home. The truth was,he liked the idea of working for his old professor. He liked the idea of repaying all those favors, small and big, that Vauchss had done for him over the years. And living in Washington was kind of appealing, too.

But he liked living in Las Vegas, too;he liked his job.He liked being a CSI. Of course,he was still new at it, and hehad a long way to go...He was abeginner, in short.

Whereas with Vauchss, he'd be doing what he was an expert in.

Greg shook his head. He didn't know what to think, or do He definitely needed some advice, preferably from someone who could take an unbiased look at his situation. Someone who could help put things in perspective. Greg thought of friends and acquaintances, but in the end he realized that the only person who fit this description was his own boss, Gil Grissom.

With this thought in mind, Greg drove to the lab. With a little luck, he might find his boss there.

Grissom was in his office, but fate decreed that every time Greg tried to broach the subject, Grissom's phone would ring, or someone would come in and interrupt them.

When the phone rang for the fifth time, Greg realized that it was a lost cause.

"I'll talk to you later." Greg mouthed as he rose from his seat, but Grissom didn't even nod.

Greg wasn't surprised by his boss' lack of attention. It was his own fault, for telling Grissom that what he wanted to talk about was _not_ case-related. That was definitely not the way to pique Grissom's interest.

It was ok, though.Greg knew they could talk later, when the night shift started.

But later that day,Greg began to question his decision to talk to Grissom. The more he thought of it, the more he realized that Grissom was perhaps the last person who could help him decide between two jobs. He almost knew what Grissom's response was going to be, anyway; probably the same response he'd got a few months before, when Mia –who had replaced Greg as a DNA technician- requested a transfer to Los Angeles.

Greg had begged Grissom to talk her out of leaving -to no avail. Grissom had simply explained that if any of his underlings were ever offered a better job, he would not stand in their way. And so, he did not lift a finger to stop Mia.

What if instead of helping him see things from a different perspective, Grissom simply told him to go ahead and take Vauchss' offer?

That was not what he wanted to hear.

That's why, that night, when Grissom motioned him into his office and said, "There was something you wanted to talk about today...?" Greg hadlied.

"Well," he hesitated, "It was about the race." He said slowly, "I was wonderingif you were doing ok with my replacement."

"I heard they're doing fine." Grissom said noncommittally.

Greg nodded.

"Good." He said.

They were silent for a moment.

"Is that all?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah." Greg nodded. "That's all. I…" he added, rising from his seat, "I've got something to do…"

And he left.

* * *

Saturday

And so, Greg didn't talk to Grissom about Vauchss' offer. In the end, he followed Vauchss' advice and simply focused on the race.

He'd just done a trialrun with Marcia and the others, and it had gone well. He was just as good as them, something that was very important for Greg's peace of mind.

Tomorrow, he'd give his best to help them win the competition. That was all that mattered for now.

TBC

Does Grissom have a clue of what's going on? We'll see onSaturday…


	7. Saturday night

SATURDAY

First of all, I'd like to apologize for posting the wrong version of chapter six.

Spoilers for this chapter:

Precious Metal In this episode, Greg leaves the lab to help Grissom solve a crime, and finds that he likes working on the field. Even Grissom's comment that CSIs make less money than DNA technicians doesn't discourage him.

In Burden of Proof, Grissom utters 'The lab needs you.'

* * *

SATURDAY

Grissom glanced at his coworkers as he gave them their assignments for the night. Nick was happy with his assignment -a robbery at the Rampart Casino- but Catherine and Warrick were definitely unhappy with theirs –a murder at a local pawnshop. They obviously wanted the more glamorous case, and resented Grissom for giving it to Nick.

They spoke at the same time.

"Is this because I used to have a problem with gambling?" asked Warrick.

"Is it because Sam Braun is my father...?" Catherine asked.

"It's a robbery," Grissom replied, "It's a one-person case. The murder, on the other hand, will require two CSIs." He glanced at them over his glasses, "Unless you want the third case of the night-" He added, waving the last sheet he had, "A dead body found at a dump site."

He glanced at Catherine and then at Warrick. They responded by picking their sheets of paper and rising from their seats. A pawnshop might not be a glamorous place but it was better than a dump site.

"See ya," Warrick said.

Grissom watched them go and then he turned to Sara, who reluctantly took the sheet of paper he handed her.

"Dump site," she sighed, "What a joy."

"Greg, you're with Sara." Grissom said.

"Great!" Greg said, jumping from his seat.

"Why are you so happy?" Sara glared.

"I always knew we would get down and dirty some day."

Sara narrowed her eyes, but Greg's smile was contagious, and she ended up smiling back. She rose from her seat to follow Greg, but she paused at the door when she noticed that Grissom hadn't moved.

"You're not working tonight?" she asked.

"I _am _working," Grissom replied, "I've got paperwork to take care of, reports to sign... and overtime sheets to review," He added pointedly. "_Someone_ maxed out her overtime; that means I'll have to revise the budget -_again._"

Sara narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything.

Greg didn't show the same restraint.

"Don't listen to him, Sara." he said, loud enough for Grissom to hear, "He just wants to get rid of us so he can stay in his office, watching TV. I bet there's some show on bugs on the Discovery Channel tonight-"

Grissom smiled indulgently as his youngest CSIs left.

He didn't say anything, but he was grateful to Greg and Sara for taking their assignment –the worse of the night- so good-naturedly.

Grissom sat and stared at the paperwork on his desk. He had let it pile up, and it was time to do something about it.

Resigned to his task, Grissom picked up a file and started to read. He turned the page and read a couple of lines... and then he simply stared at the open file in front of him. He couldn't concentrate. It seemed that neither his mind nor his heart were on this task.

Maybe. Or maybe it was simply that there were other matters crowding his mind -matters that he had let accumulate, just like his paperwork.

Grissom put his pen down. He leant back on his chair and did a mental review of the things that he'd relegated to the back of his mind:

A couple of investigations that were going nowhere and would end up in the hands of the FBI if Las Vegas PD didn't get a break soon;

An upcoming trial that Grissom didn't think they had enough evidence for;

His mother's birthday-

Grissom scoffed softly; it didn't seem right to add a personal matter on this list but he needed a couple of days off to visit her mother, and this would affect his work.

But his mother's birthday was a month away, while there were other things demanding his immediate attention. Lke The Law Enforcement Race, for instance.

The race.

Grissom sighed. The truth was, he did not share the night shift's enthusiasm for this competition. He didn't even want to drive the follow car this year, but every effort to get somebody else to take over had failed. Even Brass had refused, citing the night shift's poor performaces in the past.

It seemed that Greg wasn't the only one who believed the night shift was jinxed.

Thinking of Greg reminded Grissom of yet another problem, one that had started on Wednesday, when Greg announced that he was joining Adrian Vauchss' team.

Hearing The Fox's name had stirred some memories for Grissom. He had heard stories about Vauchss over the years; stories that an old pal of Grissom had summarized in a colorful way: "'The Fox always picks up the choicest chick: the brightest member of your staff, the youngest, the most promising, the one you've trained to take over after you retire..."

And according to those stories, working for Vauchss wasn't a smooth ride for everyone. Most newcomers quitted within a year; and while some of them were lucky enough to get their old jobs back, they often lost their .

When Greg talked about running for Vauchss' team, Grissom didn't think there was any reason to feel threatened; after all, as Greg himself had pointed out, he was not a lab technician anymore.

Grissom did not dismiss the matter altogether –oh, no. He had simply pushed it at the back of his mind... until this afternoon, when Greg asked if they could talk.

Grissom panicked.

Actually, it wasn't the idea of _talking_ that had alarmed Grissom; it was what Greg said after, when he explained that what he wanted to talk about was _not_ related to the case he was working on.

This sounded so ominous, that Grissom did the unthinkable: He _assumed._ He assumed that what Greg wanted to talk about was related to Vauchss. And if it was related to Vauchss, then it could only mean that The Fox had offered him a job in Washington.

Grissom did everything he could to avoid the conversation then: He took every phone call and welcomed every interruption until Greg finally desisted and left. It hadn't been Grissom's greatest moment, but then this was the kind of situation that always highlighted his weaknesses as Supervisor: Every time a member of his team talked about leaving, he just didn't know what to say or do.

He did have a standard phrase, "_The lab needs you."_ It was concise and honest, and it conveyed a basic truth... but it never worked. He had used it with Sara –with nearly disastrous results- and he had used it with Mia –with _completely_ disastrous results. Greg hadn't even taken it seriously.

But now Grissom wished he had let the young man talk. At least, he'd know what it was all about. After all, there were lots of things that Greg might have wanted to talk about; maybe it was something to do with his grandfather or his coin collection or something equally harmless.

Maybe there was nothing to worry about-

But maybe there was.

And there was only one way to find out.

* * *

It was close to midnight but Adrian Vauchss was still working out at the gym; he was alone, after outlasting his coworkers.

He was so focused on his weigh-lifting, that he didn't notice when Gil Grissom entered the room.

Grissom watched in silence. The Fox didn't seem to have changed much. He still favored weight-lifting and refused to use the fancy equipment in the gym. He was still as intensely tanned as he was when he worked the night shift in Chicago, and he still wore his signature t-shirts, black and tight-fitting, the better to show off his muscles. He was still as vain.

Vauchss puffed noisily every time he lifted the weights, and so Grissom waited for a pause to interject a greeting.

"Hello, Adrian." He said.

Vauchss turned in surprise. He smiled – or more exactly, he bared his teeth.

Grissom smiled to himself; he had forgotten how much Vauchss enjoyed showing off his pointy canines –the ones that had first earned him his nickname. Things hadn't changed indeed.

But others had; up this close, Grissom could see faint wrinkles around Vauchss' eyes and mouth.

"Well, well," The Fox said, "If it isn't Dr. Gil Grissom. Or do you prefer _CSI_ Gil Grissom?" he asked. He lifted his weights and held them up for a few seconds, "Wanna give these a shot, Gil?" he asked.

Grissom smiled with some amusement.

"No, thank you."

Vauchss smirked.

"You know," he said, "I believe this is the first time that I've seen you enter a gym, Gil. Don't tell me you're in a case."

"I'm not," Grissom replied, "I just thought I'd come and see how you were doing." He said, and then he added in a slightly ironic tone, "A courtesy visit to a distinguished visitor, so to speak."

Vauchss scoffed.

"Bullshit." He said, "We both know why you're here." He paused, "It's about Sanders, isn't it? You've come to plead your case."

Grissom didn't say anything. Vauchss had answered his question before he even had a chance to pose it.

Vauchss resumed his weight-lifting, but he didn't remain silent.

"I love the way lab honchos react whenever I come to their territory." He said in amusement, "Once they know The Fox is coming to town, they run around like hysterical hens trying to protect their chicks."

He threw a glance at Grissom, "But I'm curious," he said, "Years ago I took a technician from your lab and you didn't say a word. Why now?"

"You took a technician from another shift," He replied, "Greg Sanders is a CSI, Adrian. He's one of _my_ guys."

Vauchss put down the weights. He picked up a clean towel and then he carefully wiped the sweat off his face.

He was taking all the time in the world to respond.

"Gil," he finally said, "There's something you ought to know: Contrary to what everybody assumes, people come voluntarily with me. They leave their jobs because they can see the advantages-"

"They come with you because you manipulate them."

"Oh, give me a break," Vauchss scoffed, "As if you'd never resorted to a little manipulation of your own."

Grissom frowned. He clearly didn't know what that meant.

"You know what I'm talking about," Vauchss insisted, "You knew that Sanders didn't want to work in that little basement lab anymore, didn't you? He was probably thinking of quitting, and _that_'s why you gave him a job as a CSI-"

"I gave him the job," Grissom replied calmly, "Because he has the makings of a good criminalist."

"He was set to be a brilliant scientist," Vauchss retorted, "That's what _I _trained him for. He shouldn't be wasting his time on the street, cleaning up murderers' messes-"

"He had a choice-" Grissom interrupted, "And he chose to be a CSI."

"He was just excited at the prospect of carrying a weapon and making arrests," Vauchss said in a dismissive tone, "It's every kid's dream, Gil; you made it possible for him," He looked at Grissom, "It was really cunning of you, actually."

Grissom scoffed. "Not as cunning as playing the role of the needy old professor." He said pointedly.

"Touché," Vauchss said with a smile, "But I didn't just play a role, Gil." He said gleefully, "I also offered him a chance to be in a winning team."

Vauchss glanced around until he found what he was looking for: A gym bag. He went to get it. "You see," he said, "That's what's always set me apart. Sports. I give my guys more than just a job, Gil -I give them a lifestyle. We go everywhere, and we do everything: rock-climbing, surfing, scuba-diving-" He looked pointedly at Grissom, "Bookish guys just can't compete with that."

Grissom didn't reply.

"I open the doors of my home to my guys," Vauchss added, "Have you ever done that?" He asked, knowing perfectly well that Gil had not.

"You've done a lot of things for your guys," Grissom said, "And yet... they don't seem to stick around for long."

Vauchss opened the gym bag and rummaged inside. Again, it seemed that he was not in any hurry to reply.

"Don't you ever wonder why?" Grissom asked.

"Few have the stamina to keep up with me." Vauchss said dismissively. "We work under pressure; if people can't take the heat -"

"-you replace them." Grissom finished.

"Of course, I replace them," Vauchss replied, "It's wrong to hold on to people who fail."

"But don't you ever wonder _why_ they fail?" Grissom asked, and waited in vain for an answer. "You never learned what being a leader means, did you?" he asked softly, "Except when it comes to sports."

Grissom paused again, but Vauchss didn't say anything. "You know what I think?" Gil continued, "I think that once you go back to the lab, the friendship stops and you leave them to fend for themselves. And they make a mistake, you simply replace them with somebody else."

"Some of them do move on to better jobs," Grissom admitted, "But others don't fare as well, do they? Some of them even end up leaving the field altogether; and you don't care about them."

Vauchss scoffed.

"Do _you_ care about them?" he asked skeptically, "Give me a break, Gil. We run labs, not support groups. If someone can't take the pressure, then they need to reevaluate their goals."

Vauchss crossed his arms, "Don't try to lecture me on how to handle my people, Grissom. You haven't done too well, yourself. Turning Greg Sanders into a CSI was a mistake, and you know it. Sanders' place is inside a lab. A better lab, of course." He added, "And that's what _I_ can give him: A different environment, a better salary, a chance to work at Quantico…"

"Unless he fails," Grissom interrupted, "In which case you'll simply replace him with someone else."

"I know Sanders," Vauchss said, "He won't fail."

"Humans make mistakes, Adrian. We all do. Even Greg. I don't want him to end up as one of your failures."

Vauchss pulled a sweatshirt from the gym bag, but he didn't immediately put it on.

He looked at Grissom.

"Look," he said at last, "If it makes you feel better, Sanders hasn't agreed to come to Washington." He admitted, "Yet." He added pointedly. "If you really want him to stay, then all you have to do is come up with a better offer. Or..."

"Or what?"

Vauchss smirked.

"Or we can face off, you and me." He said.

Grissom frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"Well... You could enter the race." Vauchss said, barely containing his mirth. "If you do a better time than me, then I'll withdraw my offer."

Grissom didn't say anything. Vauchss was obviously making fun of him.

"You don't want to run?" Vauchss asked, "Ok, fine. Let's find something that you can do too. What about poker?" He asked, "We could play a few hands, with the winner deciding Sanders' professional future."

Grissom remained silent.

"It sounds fair, to me. But you won't do it, right?" he said after a moment, "You want it to be his decision. See, that's your problem, Gil. You will interfere but only up to a point; after all it's said and done, you want it to be _his_ choice."

"I want him to know what working for you might entail." Grissom said.

"So, tell him." Vauchss challenged.

But that wasn't Grissom style, and Vauchss knew it.

"Have it your way, then." Vauchss said, picking up his gym bag again, "Just don't blame me if he comes to Washington, all right? Remember: You practically left the doors of the hen house open."

He turned and walked away, but just as he was reaching the door, Grissom spoke again.

"Greg likes being a CSI," he said firmly. "He'll stay."

"He won't," Vauchss said dismissively. He opened the door, but Grissom's next words made him stop.

"Wanna bet?" Grissom asked.

TBC

* * *

Soon... Sunday: the race, Chip, and Greg's final decision. 


	8. Sunday, part one

SUNDAY

Part 1

* * *

Greg drove to the desert early in the afternoon. The race was still three hours away, but he was too restless to stay home doing nothing. 

He was not the first to arrive, however.Members of Las Vegas PD had been working all day, making sure that the race was a success.Greg recognized some cops, a few mechanics, and most of the female secretaries who were there to help. He waved at them.

It was too early, but Greg wasn't surprised to see his Washington teammates were already there. What he didn't expect was the welcome he got from Marcia. The others merely nodded at him, but Marcia smiled widely and even came to meet him.

"Hey, Greg." She said, "Ready for the race?"

Greg did a double take. Was this the same Marcia Thompson who only the day before had been so focused on the trial run that she didn't answer his greeting or even glance at him?

"Hey." He said tentatively.

Her smile grew wider when she noticed the look of confusion on his face.

"I know," she said, "I haven't been too nice to you, have I?"

Greg shrugged good-naturedly. He never held grudges.

"Friends?" She asked, offering her hand.

"Sure," Greg said, shaking it.

Without releasing his hand, she gently pulled him aside.

"Listen," she said, "I know I've been bitchy, but-" she lowered her voice, "I would like to make it up to you.Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Like it? He was absolutely thrilled... but he forced himself not to show it.

"I'd like that." He said evenly.

"Good. Is tomorrow ok?"

"Yes. I mean, no." he amended, "I'll be on call, tomorrow night... But we could have lunch," he said quickly.

"Sure," she said, "Lunch is fine... As long as we go to some quiet place-" and she smiled suggestively.

"Oh. Ok." he said. He was glad that things had changed between them, but he couldn't help making a comment, "You're in a really good mood." hessaid, "You got good news or something?"

"Yes!" She smiled, "Dr. Vauchss chose _me_ to run in the team. That means you and me aren't rivals anymore."

"Oh." Greg mumbled. He looked around. "Who's out?"

"Barrios." She said, "He didn't do well at the race, but between you and me, he would have been out anyway." She lowered her voice, "He bad-mouthed Vauchss during dinner, yesterday evening. Someone told Vauchss, and-" she shrugged pointedly.

Greg glanced at Barrios, who had come anyway. He seemed to have taken the news well.

Either he was a supremely mature guy, or he just didn't care about the run...

...Or he was simply used to the professor's maneuvres.

The thought troubled Greg.

"You said that _someone _told Vauchss?" he asked.

"Yeah." Marcia shrugged again, "Someone always does." She noticed the look of concern on Greg's face, "Oh, I know what you're thinking," she said, "But it's not that bad, believe me. One just got to be careful." She smiled at him, "Not that you'd ever get in trouble with Vauchss -"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're his golden pupil –you can't do no wrong." She said. "And besides, he's chosen you to be his second in command –everybody knows that." She glanced at her watch, "It's getting late," She said, "Listen, we're planning to take one last look at the route. Do you wanna come?"

Greg hesitated. He had nothing to do before the race started, but getting into a car with these people was not exactly appealing. He smiled mechanically.

"I've got some things to do." He said. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Ok!" she smiled and jogged to join her teammates.

Greg turned and walked away.

* * *

Greg walked aimlessly until he saw a familiar figure: Gil Grissom. The CSI Supervisor wastalking to the PD mechanic in charge of thevans that were going to be used at the race. 

"Hey, Grissom."Greg called out. When Grissom turned, he added, "You're early."

"I'm here to check on my van." Grissom said.

Greg smiled knowingly.

"You couldn't get anyone to take over, huh?" He said. His smile widened when he noticed Grissom's questioning look. "I heard you were looking for a substitute." He said.

"Oh." Grissom muttered uncomfortably. He disliked being a subject of office gossip, more so when it was over something he wasn't exactly proud of.

He was not going to deny it, though.

"Yeah, I tried. But I failed, so-" he shrugged slightly, "I've decided that nothing will get in the way of the night shift this year." he looked at Greg in the eye, "Not even me." he paused, "I'm going to keep my eyes on the road, be completely focused-"

"Good for you." Greg said.

Grissom glanced at the Washington logo on Greg's sweatshirt.

"What about you?" Grissom asked. "Are you ready for the race?"

"Yeah."

Grissom looked up.

"You seem a bit subdued." he remarked.

"Nah, I'm fine," Greg replied, mustering some enthusiasm, "I'm ready. I think I even have a shot at the Individual Achievement trophy, this year."

"Really? Good for you."

They stared at each other, and all of a sudden Greg had the impression that a barrier had risen between them. He, who usually had something to say about everything and everybody, suddenly did not know what to say to his boss.

"So..."he mumbled.

"So..." Grissom said, seemingly as uncomfortably. "You... You're doing fine, then."

"Actually -" Greg started, but before he could add anything, he was interrupted by David Hodges, who appeared by their side.

Hodges was wearing a Las Vegas PD vest;it was at least one size too big, but he was clearly proud to have it on.

"Hey, Grissom." He greeted. "You're checking on your vehicle? Good! It's one thing less for me to do." He ostentatiously checked something out of a list he had, and then he bestowed a casual glance on Greg, "Well, well," he said, "If it isn't Greg Sanders, the Night Shift's prodigal son, wearing his natty Washington Lab uniform-"

Greg glared.

"You're not running, Hodges." he said, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, _Conrad_ asked us to lend a hand today." Hodges said. "You know, put up banners and signs, and act as gracious hosts to a bunch of visiting jocks." He looked at Greg in the eye, "Remember," he said solemnly, "It's people like us who make these events possible." He glanced at Grissom, "Now, if you'll excuse me... I'm very busy." And he motioned the PD mechanic to follow him into the parking lot.

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Can't stand that guy," he muttered. Heturned to Grissom to comment something but before he could,Grissom spoke.

"You're probably busy, too." Grissom said.

Greg hesitated.

That sounded like a dismissal.

Just before Hodges came,Greg was going to spill his guts to Grissom... but now he was grateful for the interruption. Surely Grissom had other things to do.

"Yeah,"Greg said then,"I mean, there's always something to do before a race. Stretching exercises... meditation..."

"I know."

"I should go then," Greg said, "So- I'll see ya later, boss." He said and walked away.

Grissom exhaled and looked down.

He couldn't believe it. He'd had a chance to talk and he'd wasted it.

* * *

Greg sat in his car. From there he could see all the action without taking any part of it. He saw Sara drive by, looking for an empty spot; he saw Warrick and Nick arrive together in Nick's car; he saw dozens of visiting athletes get off their buses, while a frantic Hodges followed behind, checking out their names-

Damn Hodges.

Greg shook his head. He couldn't understand how Grissom could stand this guy.

When TPTB sent Hodges to Las Vegas, nobody thought he'd last long. He had a bad reputation -he hadn't lasted more than six months in any lab, and if he had survived the system it was because he knew whose ass to kiss. Therumour was that Hodges had been sent to this lab just so Grissom –who didn't need to have his ass kissed- fired him.

And Hodges should not have lasted more than a month... but he was still there; and, truth to be told, he had turned out to be a pretty good technician, too.

Somehow, Grissom had drawn a good performance from him.

Greg wondered what Grissom's secret was. He, who kept people at a distance, somehow won everybody's loyalty. He didn't care if you liked him or not, but you cared about his opinion –and not just because he was the boss. You tried harder and made sacrifices, but you didn't really mind. Why?

Greg absently glanced at his reflection on the rearview mirror. He touched his hair. He had worn different hair styles over the years, one more outrageous than the next; he had toned it down in order to work in the field, but the truth was, Grissom never made an issue of it. Never. Other CSI bosses made snide comments, but Grissom never did.

Maybe that was Grissom's secret? That he let people be themselves and accepted them no matter what? That he rated their ability to work and not their likability or their ability to kiss ass?

Greg scoffed softly. Maybe Professor Vauchss ought to spend a little time with Grissom; he might get to learn a thing or two.

Or maybe... Maybe it was Greg himself who would have to teach thisto his old professor?

It was a huge responsibility, and Greg didn't know if he could do it, but he could certainly try.

He looked outside. More athletes were coming, and there was Sara, reading from a page and glancing around. Greg frowned. What was she doing? She was not helping Hodges, was she?

Greg opened the door, but he quickly changed his mind and closed it again. No. He couldn't talk to her -not while he was seriously considering leaving Las Vegas.

What would she do if she found out? She'd probably be pissed off at him; after all, she had taken him under her wing these past months. She had helped him study, she had given him all sort of tips; she had encouraged him and helped him believe in himself-

But Sara would never throw all this on his face, would she? She would be pissed off perhaps, but mostly, she would be disappointed, sad-

That's it. She would be sad, and she would ask him if he was sure... But he didn't think she would try to talk him out of leaving. In the end, she would leave that decision in his hands, just like Grissom.

And that's how it should be, he could see that now. It had to be _his_ decision, like it or not.

* * *

Sara Sidle glanced at the groups of visiting athletes. She had come early to the desert, but she was not part of Conrad Ecklie's Welcome Committee. On the contrary, one might say; she was there to meet the guys from Obregon –one of them in particular.

According to the description on the list she had, the Obregon team would wear brown sweatshirts. So far, no one had come.

She was deep in thought, when someone approached her. Grissom.

"Sara? What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a guy." She said distractedly.

"What?" he asked.

Sara winced when she realized what she had just said.

"I'm not really _looking_ for one," She said quickly, "But a friend of Greg's is coming from Obregon -not that he's a _friend_ -" she added with a scowl.

Grissom frowned.

"You're not making any sense," he said.

"I know," She admitted sheepishly. "Look. I'm going to tell you the full story, but it has to remain between us, ok?" She said, and once Grissom nodded, she told him all about Chip Barnes.

"So what you're saying is that Greg signed up with Vauchss' team-"

"-to beat this guy at the race." Sara finished.

Grissom knew this was not the full story but didn't mention it. He was moreinterested inwhat she had said.

"And you want to meet this guy Barnes because...?"

"I just want to keep an eye on him." She shrugged evasively.

Grissom looked closely at her.

"Sara, you're not planning on beating up this guy, are you?"

"Me?" she was surprised, "No." She said.

Grissom was obviously skeptical.

"I'm not, Grissom." She insisted, "I'm just gonna, you know, make sure that he keeps his distance."

"Sara..." he said, "I know you mean well, but you can't fight Greg's battles for him."

"I know," she said reluctantly. "But I want that guy to know that Greg has friends here."

Grissom seemed to muse on this for a moment. Then he smiled mischievously.

"What's with the smile?" she asked.

"Maybe there's something we can do for Greg." he said, "Come on," he said, taking her arm.

* * *

Thank you for reviewing!

TBC

Note: Vauchss' actions were inspired in the real-life antics of a former boss of mine, who used to ask his close minions to find out what the rest of the Department thought of him. He would also give jobs to people he thought he could control.


End file.
